� May Sarton, in "Journal of a Solitude"

I read that while I was in the bathtub last night, where I sat for almost an hour after I got back from Linda�s. It was delightful. Then I went to bed with a gloriously awful �50�s manual of housekeeping and decorating. Many recipes in the section on cooking involve things like tongue and aspic. *My* bathtub, *my* bed � I slept alone, which is to say I slept with *my* cat, and oh wow I enjoyed this. I don�t want to delve too deeply into this implied topic mostly because it�s P-R-ivate and partly because I know a lot of people who�d be thrilled to have such a thing to imply and of course I am happy that I do, but I wish the record to show that it was also a delight to sit and talk and compare notes for a ladylike three beers with Vanessa, with whom I have, um, some stuff in common these days. (And maybe soon more � I�m going to bring-a-friend night at her kung fu studio next Thursday with an eye towards signing up for the next cycle of beginners� classes. She�s got me convinced that it could only be good for me if kicking ass were a regular part of my routine, and I think that the class fees + time consideration + endorphins combo would be an excellent way for me to present my every-other-week proposal to Number Two. Plus, bruises are cool.) Again the facile parallel should be avoided, but I am liking the Sarton because I can identify with her orientation towards balance and proportion, in one�s internal and external lives both, that ideally result in an equation. Elsewhere she writes, We recognized each other as the same breed, those who must find a balance between [�] a driving need to share experience and the need for time to experience, and that means solitude, a balance between the need to become oneself and to give of oneself� and of course they are closely related. Ain�t that the truth, lady. I kind of wish that May Sarton could have joined us for drinks last night and dropped a little wisdom from the perspective of her richly lived years. I�m also liking her now because as she�s writing in this journal, she�s 58, and this seems to be a non-issue to her except in that she�s grateful for everything she�s seen and done in her life, everyone she�s met � you feel like her sense of personally lived history is a great pleasure to her and one that she never takes for granted. Part of me is interested in that new Po Bronson book, "What Do You Want To Do With Your Life?" or some idiotic title like that, to write which he went around and interviewed people who in various ways said ick to the career pursuits in which they were engaged and figured out something new and better and more � I am sure he uses this term � self-actualizing. On the other hand, though, (1) I hate Po Bronson�s prose style and (2) how everything he writes turns into subtext for analysis of the issue which really fascinates him, which is Po Bronson; and (3) based on his journalistic milieu, I�m betting that the life-changing decisions undertaken by his subjects are things like trading a career as a CEO for lefty philanthropy or cashing in ten years� of software options to build a geodesic dome in which to homeschool the kids, not exactly relatable-to by me, and all of these things would probably cause me to throw the book across the room. And what kind of a name is Po, anyway?

I applied for both open Level 3 positions. Nobody bashed my windshield. My cold is a weak sister. Today I am wearing a pair of shoes that I bought maybe five years ago, when DP�s friend Kate was staying with me every other night or so for the summer (long story) and let me ride along on her employee discount at Nordstrom. I don�t even know if I�ve ever worn them except around the house to break them in, though they have been through three moves with me. They are a revelation � cute, comfortable, stylish without being trendy, and so sweetly professional with my knee-length black skirt and tights from my sister that everyone is fussing over (including a guy waiting for the down elevator as I got on the up one, who called out, "Do those go all the way up? Really, all the way? They cover your whole legs?" The lobby was crowded and his voice was insistent and there was something creepy about the situation, so I just smiled through the closing doors). I got tickets for the Aislers Set on April 11 because some of the dates have been selling out and it�s only at Graceland, though Steve writes, "Baby, I�m old" and seems to indicate that I will have to unload his on someone else. Oh, fine. And I had a random moment of feeling sweet on Seattle when, investigating the Aislers Set website, I saw that in December 2000 there was a show at Sit�n�Spin (!) where they shared a bill with Bratmobile, the White Stripes, and the Catheters. Holy cats. Monday night, I forgot to mention, it was to Graceland that I was hauled by Stephen to see Ikara Colt, and holy cats about that too. I was honestly kind of mesmerized despite the post-OP malaise, and it wasn�t just because the lead singer looks like a cross between Adrien Brody and the young Iggy Pop with maybe a little Gael Garcia Bernal around the nose and mouth (though, OK, it didn�t hurt). Mark my words, that�s the next big thing, happening right there.

This Josh Marshall article is worth whatever time it takes you to read it. Nice historical overview too. Marshall keeps referring to "political Islam" as the target of the Bushcroft war machine, and I keep wondering when someone is going to have the balls to follow that thought all the way to where you have to acknowledge the extent to which the machine overlaps with � in the other corner! � political evangelical Christianity. It doesn�t quite roll off the tongue, I know, but the fact is (ooh I want to read that Harper�s article, maybe I will stop at the bookstore on my way home tonight and fork over four bucks) that this is what�s driving U.S. policy with respect to military strategy, education, intelligence, and a shitload of other things that I�m too depressed to list right now. I do want to read Eric Alterman�s "What Liberal Media?" because the mainstream media�s radio silence on this issue makes me so angry I want to punch through my monitor right this second. Krugman on Tuesday is a good example of the kind of subject matter I was talking about two entries ago [Note: I am now cleverly repurposing the entry-in-progress from earlier this week, the one I passed over yesterday to make my list], that makes me so despairing and willing to picture myself leaving the country � in a blog I chanced upon while I was clicking around this morning (sorry I didn�t think to note where and now can�t give credit), its author said something about Bush and his cronies running the United States as if it�s a family business. Yes. Krugman refers to "the next stage of a new American oligarchy" and Norman Kelley to an "American imperium." It�s the nexus of influence-peddling, the defense industry in general, Halliburton in particular, multinational corporations, oil, evangelical Christianity, and intelligence connections that�s so terrifying � we�ve never had such a confluence of these factors before, these seven veils, as we do now in Bush and his administration and circle of advisors. With respect to the war, I have been trying hard to keep a clear head and not to get caught up in rhetoric � anyone�s rhetoric, neither to get thrown off kilter by the Fleischerisms nor to allow the semiprofessional omniprotesters here in Seattle to believe that they can claim me as an intellectual ally � but now it�s me who�s going to say something that must necessarily echo with portent: I don�t think this country is ever going to be the same again.

Which sounds so ridiculous, right, and as if I should be declaiming it while standing on a rocky precipice looking bravely out to sea, maybe with a scarf whipping around me and a wolf howling in the distance. And don�t get me wrong, I am not implying that it�s Bushcroft who will have pushed all of us wholesale from our cozy communal prelapsarian nest; oh no no no no no. I suspect that whatever qualities a person has that make him or her want to be a politician are very similar to the DSM-IV diagnosis for at least some mental disorder, narcissism or monomania or something. I think that the practice of electoral politics is mostly, in a word, fucked, and it�s that dim view that over the past several years led me away from self-identification as a Democrat. The Democratic party is just as much a money machine as is the Republican (though, now more than ever, the Republican one has more money to run on) and is, in its own way, as politically conservationist. I like to imagine that I don�t have any sacred cows except a belief in personal integrity � that it is possible, that it can be defended against. From what I have read so far, I like Howard Dean.

Argh, I�ll finish up some other time. If I don�t post this now, I�ll type all afternoon.

(Later:) This Reuters article, "House Calls for a Day of Prayer on War," was posted at 5:12 pm ET.

WASHINGTON (Reuters) - The House of Representatives called on Thursday for a rare national day of prayer and fasting to secure divine blessings for U.S. troops at war in Iraq and protection for Americans from terrorism.

The non-binding resolution, approved by a vote of 346 to 49, urged President Bush to designate a day.

A few members voted for the measure even though they said they found it a little too theological. Twenty-three lawmakers voted present, indicating a measure of discomfort. A "present" vote in the House is broadly equivalent to an abstention.

"I am a little troubled that we would presume to tell the American people what they should do to secure the blessings and protections of Providence," said Rep. Ted Strickland, an Ohio Democrat who nonetheless voted in favor.

"Who nonetheless voted in favor." What a fucking coward you are, Rep. Ted Strickland - you deserve to have that inscribed on your tombstone. Are we all cowards? There is something obscenely wrong with this! Praying and fasting are not the same thing as throat-slitting, but our government's appeal to a deity, our self-declared alliance with one, is the same thing as Saddam Hussein's. I challenge anyone to tell me why it's not.

Remember that column Ann Coulter wrote after the hijack-bombings in September 2001, where she came off as such a screeching lunatic and after which a lot of outlets that had been syndicating her dropped her because she'd finally crossed the line? Allow me to refresh your memory: We should invade their countries, kill their leaders and convert them to Christianity. We weren't punctilious about locating and punishing only Hitler and his top officers. We carpet-bombed German cities; we killed civilians. That's war. And this is war.

Who's the screeching lunatic now?